


like fresh plates and clean slates, our future is white

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Series: the blind date au [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gabriel is a wanker, Human AU, M/M, Mistletoe, Protective Crowley, Secret Santa, ezra brings anthony to a party at the museum, ezra is too soft for this world, the mortifying ordeal of being subjected to the annual office christmas party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21837826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: Normally, the thought of enduring an office Christmas party — especially someone else’s — would make Crowley balk, scrambling for an excuse to get out of it. But this is Ezra and for the entire six months they’ve been together, there hasn’t been a single thing Crowley has been capable of denying him. He isn’t about to start now.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: the blind date au [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1536388
Comments: 183
Kudos: 957
Collections: Good Omens Human AUs





	like fresh plates and clean slates, our future is white

**Author's Note:**

> Story title from Snow by Sleeping at Last.

Crowley has never seen the point of Christmas. Growing up in a children’s home, he had never had much reason to give any thought to the holiday. It was a day mostly like any other, lonely and unremarkable. Maybe the caretaker might don a Santa suit and hand out cheap little trinkets from the pound shop that broke by the end of the day. He’d go to bed empty-handed, the hole in his chest just a little wider with every passing year. 

As an adult, not much had changed. He tolerated most every holiday season by drinking too much and looking for someone to warm his bed until the snow melted. The crowded stores made him irritable and there always came a point in the middle of December where he _knew_ with visceral certainty that if he heard “All I Want For Christmas Is You” one more time he’d lose his goddamn mind. He spent most of the month just waiting for it to be over. 

Ezra Fell, on the other hand, was made for Christmas. The cold air makes his cheeks rosy and turns the tip of his prim nose pink. Snowflakes catch in his white-blond hair and his eyelashes. The brightness of his smile against a backdrop of twinkle lights and snow-blanketed streets is so dazzling Crowley usually has to look away for fear of going blind. Ezra hums along to Christmas songs in the stores so sweetly that Crowley doesn’t actually mind hearing the same ones over and over again. He’s like an angel amidst the madness — a light in the heavy darkness and a kind smile among a sea of frowning, impatient faces jostling for the best gifts. 

For the first time in his life, Crowley is starting to understand the point of all this Christmas nonsense. With a warm hand in his and a pale head on his shoulder it’s never been easier to see the truth of it. Ezra is the point of everything for him now. Always will be. 

“What do you think of this? Be honest.”

Crowley blinks, pulled from his embarrassingly sappy thoughts to find Ezra holding up a scarf with a rather unfortunate pattern and smiling hopefully at him. “Umm…” 

He grimaces when Ezra’s smile drops. “You hate it.”

“I don’t hate it…” He wavers, squinting. “I just think we can find something better, is all.”

Ezra stares at him, waiting patiently. 

Crowley groans. “All right, it’s bloody hideous.”

“Was that so hard?” Ezra places the scarf back on the shelf with a little pout Crowley does his absolute best not to find charming. Brow furrowed, Ezra wrings his hands together and asks, “What am I going to do? The party is next week and I haven’t found a single thing for this blasted Secret Santa nonsense.”

With a sigh, Crowley follows Ezra past a rack of discount jumpers. “What’s the big deal? This girl isn’t your boss, angel.”

“No, but Uriel can be quite intimidating when she wants to be.” Ezra pokes at an ugly jumper with a tartan pattern until Crowley makes a noise conveying _ugh,_ _not that either_. He huffs, moving to the next rack. “I just want to get her something she’ll like.”

Crowley frowns, shoving his hands into his pockets and wondering not for the first time why Ezra cares so much about what his coworkers think. Crowley himself has never felt the need to be liked by anyone — coworkers or otherwise. Ezra’s deep-seated desire to be liked by absolutely everybody is bewildering to him and none of Crowley’s assurances that he hasn’t encountered a single person who knows Ezra and doesn’t adore him have had any effect. So instead of going through the whole tired argument again, he shrugs and says, “So we’ll get her something good.”

Ezra pauses, casting Crowley one of those shy, sideways glances that never fails to make Crowley’s heart skip a beat. “We? Really?”

“Course.” He shifts uncomfortably, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “S’important to you so… it’s important to me too. Or whatever.”

Ezra beams at him, bright enough to make Crowley feel a little less ridiculous. “You know,” he begins, abandoning another eyesore jumper to step closer to Crowley with twinkling eyes. Crowley catches the scent of his cologne and feels his mouth go dry. “Since we’re on the subject, I’ve wanted to ask you for several weeks now but — well, it never seemed like the right time and I know your feelings about this particular holiday are less than benevolent-”

Crowley quirks an eyebrow. “Out with it, angel.”

“Would you come with me?” Ezra bites his lip, briefly distracting Crowley from the matter at hand. “To the party, I mean.”

Normally, the thought of enduring an office Christmas party — especially someone else’s — would make Crowley balk, scrambling for an excuse to get out of it. But this is Ezra and for the entire six months they’ve been together, there hasn’t been a single thing Crowley has been capable of denying him. He isn’t about to start now. 

Besides, he’d never say no to spending more time with Ezra. If it were up to Crowley, they’d spend every waking moment together. He’d drag Ezra into work with him and sit him in the corner of his office with a book so he could look up throughout the day and see him there. He wants to wake up in the same flat together. He wants his black jeans in a drawer alongside Ezra’s pressed trousers; his leather jacket hanging in the closet beside Ezra’s old-fashioned waistcoats. Books on his nightstand and too many sweets in his kitchen. It sounds like everything he could ever want but Crowley, still sure on some level this much happiness can’t possibly last, is still working up the courage to ask for it. 

For now, he slips his fingers into Ezra’s coat pockets, tugging him close enough to kiss. He pauses briefly to enjoy the sudden flush of Ezra’s cheeks and his surprised, shy smile before their lips meet in a warm, tender kiss right there in the middle of Harrods. When they part, Crowley noses gently at Ezra’s pink cheek and murmurs, “Love to, angel.”

Ducking his head to the crook of Crowley’s neck with a delighted grin, wide enough that Crowley can feel it even though he can’t see it, Ezra sounds adorably relieved as he breathes out, “Oh. Lovely.”

_Yes_ , Crowley thinks, glaring briefly over Ezra’s shoulder at the old biddy gawking at them. He waits until she turns away with a startled flinch before he bends his head for another kiss. _Lovely_. 

-

It takes Crowley all of thirty seconds after meeting Gabriel the museum director — Ezra’s boss, for all intents and purposes — to decide the man is an arrogant prick who probably bullied his peers throughout his entire childhood and just never bothered to grow up and stop. He greets Ezra with a wide, fake grin that doesn’t come even close to reaching his eyes and doesn’t bother shaking Crowley’s hand when they’re introduced. He only stares, like he can’t quite believe sweet, soft Ezra Fell is hanging off the arm of some lanky, tattooed man swaggering about in leather trousers. 

It wouldn’t have bothered Crowley normally. He’s used to the curious glances he and Ezra tend to garner when they’re out together, but there’s something about Gabriel’s Armani suit and cashmere scarf that sets his teeth on edge. The feeling only grows as he lets Ezra tug him further into the room and he sees the place is full of Gabriel lookalikes — beautiful, stuffily dressed people cradling flutes of champagne and eyeing him like gum sticking to the bottom of their Gucci loafers. 

Ezra doesn’t seem to notice the stares or the whispers, smiling brightly at everyone and waving occasionally as they make their way to the drinks table. He keeps his hand tucked snugly into Crowley’s and the warmth of him against Crowley’s side is comforting enough to help him unclench just a little. Ezra passes him a drink and as their fingers brush, Crowley winks at him. 

“Flirt,” Ezra mutters fondly, sipping his champagne. 

Crowley scoffs. “Says the man who can’t go five minutes without batting his eyes at me.” He arches a brow and assures under his breath, “ _Not_ that I’m complaining. Just keep those eyes on me, angel.”

Six months in, Ezra still blushes so beautifully. He sways into Crowley like he can’t help himself and their fingers brush again as he promises, “Only for you.” He lowers his voice, blue eyes twinkling with mischief when he adds, “My eyes and everything else.”

Crowley swallows, wondering how soon is too soon to drag Ezra out of the party and find a broom cupboard to ravish him in. “Ngk. I-”

“Ezra?”

Ezra startles, the warmth of him so near Crowley disappearing as he takes a step back and pastes on a polite smile for the tall, slender brunette approaching them. “Michael,” Ezra greets, and mutters _curator_ under his breath for Crowley’s benefit. “Don’t you look lovely, my dear. Happy Christmas.”

Michael leans in to kiss his cheek and while she seems a bit stiff, Crowley can tell she’s making an effort so he doesn’t hold it against her. “Happy Christmas, Ezra.” She glances questioningly at Crowley and asks, “Is this him then?”

“Oh, yes. Do forgive me.” Ezra beams, threading his arm through Crowley’s. “This is my Anthony.”

Everything goes a bit fuzzy around the edges the moment Crowley hears Ezra refer to him as _my_ Anthony and he doesn’t hear a single thing Michael says in reply. He can barely make his tongue work long enough to utter a simple greeting and decides to go with a reliably basic, “Hey.”

Michael arches an eyebrow, lips quirked in amusement as she confesses, “I’ve heard a lot about you these past few months. I dare say our Ezra is smitten with you.”

Ezra chokes on a sip of champagne, darting a weak glare at Michael. 

Crowley grins, intrigued at once. “Oh?”

With a hum of assent, Michael eyes him over the rim of her glass and admits, “You’re not quite what I pictured.”

“Too tall?”

“Too… worldly, I suppose.” Michael leans in conspiratorially and confides, “Ezra’s usual type is the professorial sort. Tweed coats and elbow patches. Greying around the temples. Boring tales of guided African safaris.”

Crowley grimaces. “Mm. Disappointed?”

“Not at all.” She smirks. “This is more fun.”

“Oh honestly.” Ezra huffs, staring into his champagne like if he just concentrates hard enough, the floor will open up and swallow him. “Aren’t there more interesting things to discuss than this sort of salacious-”

“Salacious?” Crowley leers, thoroughly enjoying himself. “My, my, angel. What _have_ you been telling people about me?”

Michael sighs, apparently pleased, and declares, “Yes. Much more fun.”

Just about to pry a little more into the details of Ezra’s “usual type”, Crowley scowls when Gabriel appears out of nowhere and hovers at Michael’s elbow. Dropping a firm hand to her shoulder, he says with another of those eerily vacant smiles, “How’re we doing? Having fun yet?”

Michael’s easy smile falters and Ezra goes stiff beside Crowley, leaving him with no choice but to vow hatred of Gabriel the museum director forever. Before either of them can recover from the sudden appearance of their boss, Crowley eyes him with barely concealed disdain and says dryly, “Oh, just tickety-boo.”

Gabriel points a finger at him and Crowley twitches, suddenly itching for a fag. “ _Ha_. Someone’s been spending a little too much time with their new beau.” With a nudge to Michael’s ribs, he asks, “What do you think? Is he good enough for our Ezra?”

Still looking like she’d enjoy nothing more than shoving Gabriel out of her personal space, Michael sips at her champagne and pastes on a polite smile. Her eyes meet Crowley’s as she says, “He’ll do, I think.”

Gabriel’s smile remains frozen on his face and Crowley wonders if he might be some sort of automaton. There is absolutely no feeling in those eyes whatsoever and it’s starting to give him the creeps. “Good, good.” He steps back from Michael with one final tap to her shoulder. “I hate to break up the fun but I need you for a sec.”

Michael nods, setting aside her drink and smiling faintly at Ezra’s commiserating glance. “It was lovely to meet you, Anthony. Perhaps we’ll talk later.”

At Crowley’s nod, Gabriel grasps Ezra by the elbow and suggests, “You two should visit the dessert table over there. But don’t go too crazy.” He lands a light, playful punch to Ezra’s stomach and laughs. “You’re starting to go a little soft around the middle there.”

Ezra somehow manages to smile and grimace at once. 

Too busy gaping at the exchange in shock, Crowley doesn’t gather a resounding _fuck you_ on his tongue until Gabriel has disappeared through the crowd with Michael. “Did he just-” He turns to look at Ezra, too stunned to trust his ears. Avoiding his gaze, Ezra wring his hands in embarrassment and Crowley realizes that yeah, he’d definitely heard correctly. “Ezra, what the _fuck_ -”

“Shh.” Ezra swats at him gently, with a warning glance to lower his voice. Crowley scowls. “It’s nothing, darling. He’s always like that. Nothing to fuss about.” 

Crowley opens his mouth to argue that yes it very much is something to fuss about but Ezra sways into him again and his smile is soft and hopeful. He struggles to cling to his indignation on Ezra’s behalf. “Angel, he can’t just-”

“Let’s not let him ruin the evening.” Ezra’s fingers brush his and he inclines his head in the direction of the dance floor. “Shall we?”

There’s an underlying request for Crowley to please drop the matter and though he definitely plans on bringing it up again, he allows himself to be distracted long enough to escort Ezra onto the dance floor. He draws Ezra into his arms and they sway together, Crowley occasionally offering guidance murmured low in his ear. Ezra has come a long way since that first dance at the Serpent but he still forgets himself every now and then, trying to lead instead of follow or looking down at his shoes instead of into Crowley’s eyes. 

He doesn’t mind playing teacher — any reason to stay pressed close enough to whisper instruction and watch Ezra lick his lips. He does _so_ like to be told what to do. And Crowley has always been rather bossy. They fit beautifully. 

Despite their closeness and the soft music playing, anger still simmers under his skin, ready to boil over. How dare he. How dare _anyone_ talk to Ezra like that. Perfect, kind, lovely Ezra. He knew that Gabriel was a wanker right from the start. He fucking _knew_ it. No one who smiles like that while wearing Armani can possibly be trusted.

Silently fuming, he spends half of their first dance conjuring fantasies of cornering Gabriel in a dark alley and making him regret ever opening his stupid smug mouth. And then Ezra rests his head on Crowley’s bony shoulder and all other thoughts but him go spinning away, scattering like snowflakes. 

There was a time, not so long ago, when Crowley thought intimacy like this was far beyond him. He refuses to waste a single moment of it thinking about that utter twat. With Ezra in his arms and the smell of his cologne tickling Crowley’s nose, there are far more important things to dwell on. 

“So,” he drawls, forcing himself into the present. A smirk curls his mouth. “Been discussing me at work, have you?”

Even without looking, he can sense Ezra’s pink cheeks. “Oh, do shut up,” he says, and there’s laughter in his voice. “You’re hardly innocent of that yourself. Don’t think I don’t remember all those pointed comments about the man who _tamed_ Anthony Crowley.”

Crowley makes a noise of agreement in the back of his throat. “Well, yeah. Not sure if you’ve noticed but I am a bit of a hopeless sap about you, angel.” He shrugs and glances down, silently enjoying Ezra’s ruffled expression. “I’m pathetic, really. Hardly counts. You, on the other hand-”

A soft hand cups his cheek, stalling the rest of Crowley’s words on his tongue. Difficult to concentrate anyway with all that warmth and softness directed at him. Ezra sighs quietly and says with a smile, “Just as hopeless and pathetic, I’m afraid.”

“Right.” 

Crowley clears his throat, cursing inwardly when he feels his own cheeks grow warm. Ezra has never been shy about voicing his adoration but Crowley has gotten no better at receiving it, always stuttering through some garbled response and trying not to let Ezra see him blush. He takes a moment to process the twinkle lights and Ezra’s soft smile and Judy Garland singing her heart out over the speakers. It’s all too much and he still doesn’t quite feel that he deserves any of it but he’ll be damned if that stops him from grasping it with both hands anyway. 

“Well,” he finally manages to croak out. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

Things are better after that. 

They dance a bit more and Crowley actually manages to coax Ezra underneath the mistletoe long enough to steal a kiss right in front of everyone. Someone whistles and Crowley laughs, relishing Ezra’s embarrassed smile as he hides his face in the crook of Crowley’s neck. 

Eventually they do investigate the dessert table, with Crowley making certain Ezra has a generous helping of cake because seriously, fuck Gabriel. They linger over new glasses of champagne and Ezra leans into Crowley’s side, whispering office gossip and pointing out some of his other coworkers. 

“That’s Sandalphon.” Ezra surreptitiously points out a portly, balding fellow trailing after Gabriel like a puppy. “He’s a docent but Gabriel favors him so I dare say he’ll outrank me in another year or so.”

Watching Ezra wrinkle his nose and furrow his brow as he observes Sandalphon pant after Gabriel, Crowley grins. “You hate him, don’t you?”

Ezra blinks, lips parting in shock as he turns to stare at Crowley. “I do not.” He straightens his bowtie and sniffs. “I don’t _hate_ anybody, thank you very much.”

“Mm.” Crowley nods, keeping his mouth shut, and arches an eyebrow. “Right. Course.”

“Although…” Ezra hesitates, glancing at Crowley out of the corner of his eye. He purses his lips, prim as anything, and Christ does Crowley love him — the prissy little hypocrite. “I do have trouble understanding exactly the sort of underlying genius Gabriel seems to see in him.”

Still grinning, Crowley curls a hand around the back of Ezra’s neck and leans in to press a lingering, adoring kiss to his temple. Nosing at his blond curls, he murmurs giddily, “You hate him.”

Ezra sighs. And to Crowley’s delight, doesn’t bother denying it again.

Near the end of the night, Gabriel announces the start of the Secret Santa gift exchange and everyone gathers around the Christmas tree in the corner of the room to watch one another open presents. Crowley hovers just behind Ezra, watching the proceedings with increasing boredom. He glances at his watch, beginning to count down the seconds until he can drag Ezra back to his flat and into bed. 

Uriel, Ezra’s Secret Santa recipient, loves the expensive leather gloves Crowley had talked Ezra into buying. Ezra tosses a grateful glance over his shoulder at Crowley when she thanks him, stroking the supple leather with her fingertips, and Crowley winks at him. 

And then it’s Ezra’s turn to open his gift — an envelope from Gabriel. 

The moment Gabriel hands it over with that same caricature of a smile, Crowley tightens his grip around his champagne flute and takes a step toward Ezra. Something primal and protective unfurls in his gut as Ezra slips his thumb beneath the flap and gently pries open the envelope to slide out the card inside. Crowley holds his breath, peering over Ezra’s shoulder. 

The card seems harmless enough, displaying a glitter-covered snowman on the front. The inside is blank save for Gabriel’s signature. A gift card slips out into Ezra’s palm and before Crowley can even make out what it’s for, he hears the soft hitch in Ezra’s breathing and goes still. 

“A gym membership,” Gabriel announces to everyone with a triumphant laugh. He glances around at his employees, clearly looking for some fellow co-conspirators, but the only one to laugh is that worm Sandalphon. “Got to stay in shape for that new man of yours, right Ezra?”

Ezra laughs weakly and mutters, “Yes, I suppose I do.” Ezra who had tried so hard to find the right gift for Uriel only to be handed this abomination in return. Ezra, who is the kindest, sweetest human being Crowley has ever known and who doesn’t deserve a single mean-spirited word spoken to him, let alone this thoughtless excuse for a gift. 

No one else says a word, all of them staring at the floor or into their drinks or even at each other in clear discomfort. But no one says a word. And Crowley has a feeling it’s always like this — Gabriel being a shit to Ezra and absolutely no one speaking up for the sweet-natured man too polite to say anything on his own behalf. 

Well, fuck them. 

Crowley is here now, with no intention of going anywhere. And it just so happens, he’s been itching to tell this prick off all night. Fuming, he plucks the membership card from Ezra’s numb grasp before stepping in front of him like a shield. With a snap of his fingers, he flicks the card violently right into Gabriel’s face. He recoils as it flutters to the floor at his feet, blinking at Crowley like a startled bird. 

And Crowley smiles, sharp enough to cut. “You know what I think, _Gabe_?” His expression flickers and _oh_ , he doesn’t like that nickname. Good to know. “I think you look at Ezra and see someone infinitely more likable than you. Someone kind and intelligent and with better hair. Someone who could easily take your place if he wasn’t content exactly where he is. And that just scares the shit out of you, doesn’t it?”

Gabriel stiffens, his eyes narrowing as Crowley saunters forward and crowds right into his space. Crowley curls his hands into fists, telling himself no matter how many scuffles in pubs and nightclubs he has emerged from bloody but victorious, his wiry limbs and sheer determination are no match for Gabriel’s solidity. He still _really_ wants to punch him anyway. 

“And then on top of being threatened by him professionally,” Crowley goes on, fighting to keep his voice just this side of nonchalant rather than hissing through his teeth like he wants to. “Ezra starts talking about someone new in his life. Someone who thinks he’s perfect just as he is. And since there isn’t a gym where you can go and work on your shitty personality, you’re probably stuck being an unloveable fuckwit forever.” Crowley tilts his head and sticks out his lower lip, affecting a little pout. “Course that’s probably why you felt like lashing out, yeah?”

Considerably paler and no longer smiling that stupid smug grin, Gabriel avoids the fascinated gazes of his employees and glares at Crowley. “Listen” he begins, clearing his throat. “It was just a joke-”

“Well it wasn’t funny, _Gabe_.” Crowley sniffs, watching in satisfaction as Gabriel deflates like a balloon. “And just a piece of advice. The next time you think about taking out your own deficiencies on Ezra or sharing your shitty sense of humor at his expense?” He leans in, finally allowing his words to hiss through his teeth. “ _Fucking don’t_.”

Gabriel breathes in sharply, nostrils flaring. 

Under Crowley’s narrow gaze, he nods stiffly. Crowley flashes him a grin, clapping him on the shoulder and relishing Gabriel’s flinch. “Brilliant. Thanks.” 

Gabriel shuffles away with his tail between his legs and the crowd around them begins to disperse, murmuring excitedly to one another about the whole spectacle. Crowley, realizing Ezra has been rather quiet, turns to check on him. Maybe he’d like to ditch the rest of this disaster of a party and hit that pub over on Oxford Street before they head back to Crowley’s flat. Except the space where he’d been is empty now and one quick glance around reveals Ezra isn’t actually in the room anymore. And Crowley has no idea when he’d managed to slip out. 

“Shit,” he mutters, and stalks off after him. 

At this time in the late evening, the museum has been shut down to the public for hours and consequently, Crowley wanders aimlessly through darkened corridors calling for Ezra and hearing only his footsteps echo around him. He passes through a room of old Greek vases, another of Egyptian sculptures, and what seems to be an entire area dedicated to Alexander the Great before he finally stumbles across the only room Ezra could possibly be in — the Enlightenment Gallery. 

The long, vast space doesn’t even look like it belongs in the museum. City lights slant in from the windows of the balcony overhead and the whole room looks like it must have been lifted from some posh git’s 18th century mansion, filled as it is with bookshelves stuffed with aging manuscripts and brittle tomes. Statues dot the space, along with marble busts on pedestals and glass cases filled with curiosities. When Crowley finally spots Ezra sitting at a gleaming mahogany bench in the middle of it all, dressed in his usual old-fashioned clothes, he can’t help but think he looks perfectly at home here. 

The ancient wooden floor creaks beneath Crowley’s boots as he moves closer but Ezra doesn’t glance up from his careful study of a massive stone monstrosity just ahead of him. The plaque beside it reads Piranesi Vase. Crowley sniffs at it and drops down beside Ezra, legs stretched out in front of him and hands curled over the edges of the bench to brace himself. What he wants more than anything is to sit close enough to drape an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and tug him close, to bury his nose in pale hair and whisper just how perfect he is. In the time Crowley has been with Ezra, he’s gotten a bit better about saying how he feels but he can’t be sure such affection would be welcome just now so he keeps to himself and glances cautiously at him. 

“All right?”

Ezra hums, glancing away from the vase to meet Crowley’s uncertain gaze. “Oh yes, just dandy.” He lifts one shoulder in an elegant but uncharacteristic shrug. “Gabriel has always been…”

“A complete tosser?”

A weak, grateful smile curls his mouth. “Yes. That.”

And the words won’t be contained another second, spilling past Crowley’s lips in a breathless rush. “You’re perfect, you know.”

“You’re sweet, Anthony.” Ezra reaches across the space between them to pat his knee fondly when Crowley grimaces. “You _are_ , hush. But we both know I’m hardly your type.”

Crowley bristles. “Well according to Michael I’m not yours either. But I don’t think either of us were particularly happy with our type, were we?”

“Well…no.” Ezra concedes, folding his hands in his lap. “No, I suppose not.”

Having been fairly confident but still relieved to have it confirmed, Crowley leans in close enough to bump his shoulder gently against Ezra’s and is further delighted when Ezra leans in too — just enough to make sure they keep touching. He ducks his head to hide a grin, studying his fingers curled tightly around the edge of the bench. 

“You’re clever though. And kind — kinder than you should be, really. And you make me laugh.” He blows out a soft breath, lifting his head again to stare fixedly at the stupid bloody vase as he pours his heart out and hears it echo in this great empty room. “I hate tartan but on you it looks downright sodding edible. You’re a snob about so many things — music and wine and books, for a start — and I don’t know why but I find that really hot.”

Ezra makes a faint noise, half amusement and half protest. 

Crowley ignores him, determined to finish now that he’s gotten started. “You actually _look_ like an angel, I swear you do. Your hair and those cheeks and your eyes. You smile and it’s like a new sun.” He swallows, licking his lips. “I like how soft you are when we curl up in bed together. I like how broad your shoulders are and I like draping my arms around them when we dance. I like how deceptively strong you are.” He smirks suddenly. “And I _really_ like it when you use that against me in bed.”

Ezra makes another strangled noise. “ _Anthony_ -”

“I mean it, Ezra.” Crowley finally forces his gaze away from the towering vase to look at him and finds Ezra staring at him with flushed cheeks and glittering eyes. “I wouldn’t change one single thing about you and anyone who would can fuck right off.”

Wordlessly, Ezra reaches out and gently pries Crowley’s hand away from the bench. He twines their fingers together and squeezes, his lashes fluttering as he blinks back the tears in his eyes. His mouth opens and closes more than once before he finally settles on a quiet, overwhelmed, “Thank you, darling.”

Crowley lifts their joined hands to his lips, mouth brushing his knuckles. “My pleasure.”

“Not only for all those lovely things you just said.” Ezra inclines his head behind him, silently indicating the scene Crowley had made right in the middle of the party. Crowley might have been embarrassed if Ezra wasn’t looking at him with clear admiration in his gaze. As it is, he’s starting to feel a bit hot under the collar. “You were rather magnificent back there. No one has ever stood up to Gabriel like that before. Least of all for me.” Ezra smiles, looking at once scandalized and adorably giddy. “My knight in shining armor.”

It takes a considerable amount of Crowley’s willpower to ignore what the thought of being Ezra’s knight does to him. Plenty of time to revisit that later. “So you’re not…embarrassed by me?”

Ezra stares at him. “Why on earth would I be — Anthony, what _are_ you talking of?”

He sighs. “Surely you’ve noticed I don’t exactly fit in here. I’ve been ignoring stares all night. Feels like I’m at a zoo, not a museum.”

With a hum of understanding, Ezra squeezes his hand again. His thumb caresses Crowley’s knuckles soothingly. “That’s rather how I felt when you took me to your club,” he confesses with a wry smile. “We don’t look much like a couple, do we, my dear?”

“Maybe not.” Crowley shrugs, clenching his jaw. “But I don’t care what anyone else thinks. So long as you don’t either, I mean.”

Ezra scoffs. “Of course not.”

“You sure?” Crowley hates himself for pressing the issue, for not grabbing the reassurance with both hands and clinging to it. But he needs Ezra to be certain. Because if he falls any further into this and Ezra changes his mind… Crowley isn’t sure he could ever recover. “Because I’m not… I’ll never be-”

Ezra turns to face him, sacrificing his perfect posture to look at Crowley properly. He does not release Crowley’s hand. “I wouldn’t change a thing about you either. You are —“ He purses his lips, glancing away briefly to gather himself before he risks meeting Crowley’s open, hungry gaze again. “Anthony, you’ve become… _essential_ to me. You’re my best friend. My lover. My…family.” He smiles when Crowley falters, fingers going lax in Ezra’s grip from the shock. “Mine, in every way that matters. I feel as though I belong with you. I have since the day we met.”

“You do, angel,” Crowley says hoarsely, and slips his hand from Ezra’s to press his palm to a soft cheek. “You do belong with me. Always.”

Ezra leans into his palm and then into Crowley’s eager kiss. His arms wind around Crowley’s neck and his lush mouth is open and hot, lips parted readily for Crowley’s impatient tongue. They trade heated, greedy kisses right there in the middle of all of history — dusty books and centuries old statues bearing witness to the greatest love Crowley has ever known. And it just tumbles out, between one trembling kiss and the next. 

“Move in with me.”

Ezra freezes, pulling back just enough to stare at him with wide blue eyes. “What?”

Crowley swallows, darting a glance away and licking his lips. “I want you to live with me.” He huffs out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. I want to drag myself home from the Serpent at two am and find you asleep in our bed. I want you to kiss me on your way out the door in the morning. I want your stupid chipped tea mugs next to my crystal wine glasses in the kitchen cabinet. I want your books all over my living room and your stuffy old Oxfords lined up beside my boots in the closet.” He takes a deep breath, turning pleading eyes to Ezra’s stunned face. “You said yourself you belong with me, angel. So just…stay with me.”

For a moment, Ezra simply stares at him blankly and Crowley steels himself to be summarily rejected. He’s already planning to spend his evening drunk and alone in his flat when Ezra throws his arms around his neck and nearly sends Crowley tumbling arse over head off the bench. Warm lips press against his and Ezra beams into an exuberant kiss as he breathes, “Yes, darling. To all that and more.”

And Crowley laughs. 

“What, really?”

Ezra nods, still grinning widely. And for no good reason Crowley can think of, considering they were about to have another extraordinarily thorough snog right there on the bench, Ezra climbs to his feet and holds out a hand to him. Crowley shrugs and takes it. Ezra leans into his side and his smile is bright enough to light their way as they stroll toward the exit pressed snugly together. 

Feeling light-headed and more than half sure he’s dreaming, Crowley asks dazedly, “Back to the party then?”

“Oh no.” Ezra shakes his head, his warm hand finding the small of Crowley’s back. “I want to go home and pack.”

Unable to bite back the grin taking over his whole face despite how ridiculous it feels, Crowley throws back his head and laughs. It rings out, echoing in the empty corridor as he drags Ezra in and kisses him again. Exhilarated and bruising and with a little too much teeth. “Christ,” he breathes, scattering kisses over rosy cheeks and down a posh nose just to hear Ezra giggle like a schoolboy. “I love you.”

For a moment, Crowley almost panics. He’d never intended to say it like that — he’d wanted it to be a moment. He’d wanted to say it over flowers and champagne and those hopelessly fancy little strawberry tarts Ezra likes. He looks up, eyes wide, and finds Ezra gazing tenderly up at him like he’d already known. “I love you too,” he whispers, and it soothes some empty place inside Crowley he hadn’t even realized was there. It heals over like it never existed at all. Crowley has never felt so _full_. “Happy Christmas, Anthony.”

With a blinding smile, Crowley slings an arm around Ezra’s shoulders and steers him toward the door — toward a cab, his flat, their future. “Happy Christmas, angel.” 


End file.
